by Jay Hogan
Table of Contents
Blurb
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
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Copyright
First Impressions
By Jay Hogan
Auckland Med.: Book One
Michael:
Two years ago I made a mistake—a big one. Then I added a couple more just for good measure. I screwed up my life, but I survived. Now I have the opportunity for a fresh start. Two years in NZ. Away from the LA gossip, a chance to breathe, to rebuild my life. But I’m taking my new set of rules with me.
I don’t do relationships.
I don’t do commitment.
I don’t do white picket fences.
And I especially don’t do arrogant, holier-than-thou, smoking-hot K9 officers who walk into my ER and rock my world.
Josh:
One thing’s for certain: Dr. Michael Oliver is an arrogant, untrustworthy player, and I barely survived the last one of those. He might be gorgeous, but my daughter takes number-one priority. I won’t risk her being hurt again. I’m a solo dad, a K9 cop, and a son to pain-in-the-arse parents.
I don’t have time for games.
I don’t have time for taking chances.
I don’t have time for more complications in my life.
And I sure as hell don’t have time for the infuriating Dr. Michael Oliver, however damn sexy he is.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
FIRST IMPRESSIONS, the first of the Auckland Med Series, was my first book accepted for publication and will always hold a special place in my heart. I hope this reedited and rereleased edition finds the same wonderful welcome that the first edition did.
In this edition, I have made some minor changes, corrections and a couple of slightly altered plot points, but nothing that changes the essence or major plot structure of that first release. It was an opportunity to change some things that had bugged me after the first publication.
I want to thank my husband for his patience and for keeping the dog walked and out of my hair when I needed to work. And my daughter for all her support and beta reading as required, blushes included. And to all the staff at Dreamspinner Press for their help in polishing this book anew.
Getting a book accepted for publication is a huge delight but getting it finessed for release is a whole other challenge and none of it is done on our own, as authors. It is a team effort, including all those author support networks and reader fans who rally around when you are ready to pull your hair out and throw away every first draft. Thanks to all of you.
CHAPTER ONE
THE YOUNG man moved to the sultry beat like warm caramel, fluid and sinuous beneath the unrelenting furnace of the club lighting. Acres of luminous olive skin with nary a wrinkle in sight slid seductively over lithe muscle slick with sweat, all rolling with the slow thumping bass and catching the hungry attention of more than a few men lined against the bar.
No more than twenty, the man’s rangy body still bore the soft angles of youth, though now tempered by the mouthwatering promise of hard-muscled maturity yet to come. Dark curls lapped the nape of his neck, more than enough to offer a solid grip, and a criminally tight ass poured into a pair of painted-on black jeans that had Michael’s own denims straining in appreciation.
But that young? Hell, Michael had dental work older than that. He shouldn’t even be looking. Still, the hunger in that steamy gaze was anything but virginal, and damn, if he couldn’t pry his eyes away, glued to every undulating swell of flesh like it provided the answer to all things that ailed him. And maybe it did, for tonight at least.
His body fairly thrummed with arousal, and he became increasingly convinced the young man knew exactly what he was doing—checking out his admirers—all that freshly scrubbed youth just screaming compliance. This was a performance designed to seduce interest, and Michael was on board 100 percent. He only hoped the young man had the wherewithal to follow through on the promise his body was so damn busy throwing around.
They’d locked eyes once or twice already, including right then as the young man drilled Michael with a heated stare while running his hands across his chest and down the succulent ridges of a nicely developing set of abs. Promising for sure, and although Michael wasn’t usually one for browsing the “baby gay” section when he cruised, he thought he could make an exception in this case because, damn, this boy was all kinds of yum.
Still, first picks didn’t always pan out, and this particular fish had a partner in tow, an older man whose possessive hand never left the young dancer’s hip. Sensing the boy’s distraction, the man followed his gaze and levelled Michael with a cool stare. He slid his hand to the small of the young man’s back and pulled him tight in an unmistakable display of possession.
Well, shit. Michael blew out a sigh. He wasn’t in the habit of poaching. There was more than enough flesh to go around without complicating a simple hookup with unnecessary grief. But the young dancer’s response to the territorial claim stayed Michael’s eye a moment. It was long enough to catch the annoyed expression the dancer barrelled the older man’s way, and his accompanying two steps back. Two steps that created distance between the two of them and opportunity in Michael’s mind. And when that eager gaze locked back on Michael… well, hell yeah, game on.
Abandoning his soda, Michael threw the barman a wink and received a flirty one in return. He checked the guy’s name tag, James, and squirreled that away for future reference. The man was built like a linebacker and clearly interested, but tonight, Michael had other fish to fry.
He ripped off his shirt, tucked it into the back of his jeans, and headed for the steaming dance floor, catching a few looks of his own. He knew he was no slouch in the looks department; he ate well and worked out regularly, aiming for buff rather than ridiculous. Gym bunnies didn’t do it for him. A pair of sleek black barbells threaded his nipples and large tribal tattoos wrapped around his back and biceps. After six months in New Zealand, he’d added a stylised kiwi above his heart.
The temporary upheaval in countries had reaped benefits he was more than grateful for. He felt lighter, more comfortable in his own skin than he had in years. Yes, the gay scene was somewhat quieter in Auckland than Los Angeles, light years quieter, but he’d adjusted quickly, appreciating the laid-back approach to life that Kiwis enjoyed as some recompense for the limited club scene.
Acceptance as a gay man hadn’t been difficult, and although no country was free of bigoted assholes, New Zealand was overall a liberal gem with more legislated LGBT protection than many other countries. True, there wasn’t a lot of gay PDA on display, but then Kiwis weren’t much into PDA, period.
The change of scenery was, in a word, spectacular, and the anonymity was a godsend, providing the space he’d needed to get his career and personal life back on track. With another eighteen months left on his contract as an ER doctor at Auckland Med, he’d made it his personal mission to fuck his way through as much of the hot, eligible male population as humanly possible before that time was up.
And lucky for him, tonight Downtown G was packed to the rafters with possibilities, its dance floor tight and slick. It had become h
is favourite spot to cruise but had been closed for two weeks undergoing renovation. Gone were the dark booths, wooden bar, and tired décor; the club now sported an upmarket, polished-steel and leather interior, cool New York loft–style furnishings and mood lighting while retaining just enough dark corners to satisfy the carnal agenda of many of its clientele, including Michael. After a shitty week at work, a night of dancing and a satisfying fuck was exactly what the doctor ordered to get his head back in happy land again.
The thumping strains of Shihad’s One Will Hear The Other sparked his buoyant mood as he threaded through the sea of heaving bodies, angling for the young dancer who’d caught his eye—and that of about a hundred others, he mused. The intoxicating tang of cologne, male sweat, and arousal hung like a palpable haze over the crush of people, and Michael breathed it deep. Hands slid over his chest, his ass, and a few ghosted his semihard dick. Fuck, yeah.
He worked his way across the floor, stopping to dance just behind, and therefore out of view of, his target’s older partner. The young man had shamelessly tracked Michael’s approach over the man’s shoulder, sending an encouraging smirk, and when Michael arrived, they locked eyes. Bingo. Michael’s cock filled with the heavy dose of lust that spilled his way in that one sizzling glance, and his eyes drifted south to those full pouty lips that promised so much.
While Michael was still appreciating the view, someone closed in against his back, cupped his ass, and rocked an ample hard cock against him. Mmm. Keeping his gaze fixed ahead, he lifted his arms and allowed his new faceless partner to slip his hands around and over his chest. Sliding his tongue slowly across his lower lip, Michael enjoyed the responsive burst of fire in the young dancer’s gaze. And when he pushed his ass back against the anonymous guy’s dick and tilted his head to expose his neck, he swore he heard the young man groan. Yep. His partner spun and threw Michael a filthy look.
Michael grinned at the older guy, tossed the young man a wink, and made his way to the far edge of the dance floor. He didn’t bother checking to see if the dancer followed—that heated look had meant only one thing. Close to the wall, he found some space and swayed in time to the music as he waited, eyes closed. Sure enough, a few seconds later, a warm body slid up against his chest, and Michael opened his eyes with a smile.
“Not your boyfriend, then?” he asked, flicking his gaze in the direction of the older man. The young eyes boring into him were a pool of forest green edged in brown. Not a single crease marred their corners or apparently any other facial surface, further underscoring his youth. Michael ignored the curl of disquiet that rolled through his gut. He was looking for a fuck, not a fiancé, and the guy was legal. He didn’t need more than that.
The dancer ran his hands over Michael’s chest, pausing to tease the barbells in his nipples. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he answered, leaning in to nip Michael’s earlobe.
Michael wrapped an arm around the lean waist and drew the dancer close, brushing their groins together. A soft moan escaped the young man’s lips, and Michael’s body heat rocketed. “Excellent,” he replied. “Because I’d hate to break up a good thing and all.” He gripped the dancer’s ass and pulled him flush, rocking the two of them into a slow grind.
The young guy snorted. “Hardly.” He draped his arms over Michael’s shoulders and gave his body over to Michael’s direction. “He’s pretty cute for an old guy but not really my type.”
The dancer’s scent was a heady mix of spicy mint, youth, and sweat, and as Michael ran a hand up the lean frame of his back, enjoying the muscles bunch and tense beneath his caress, he had only one thought. Lordy. This one is just built for fun. His dick strained hard against his zipper. Fucking hell. If he wasn’t careful, he’d blow in his damn jeans before they even got started.
He cleared his throat roughly. “So, what is your type, then?”
Dancer boy smirked and leaned close. “Thought I’d made that pretty clear,” he whispered against Michael’s ear, then teased his tongue along the crease of Michael’s lips. But when he pressed for entry, Michael turned his head. “Sorry, sweetheart, no kissing.”
The man frowned, then shrugged. “Whatever. I can work with that. Plenty of other places to stick my tongue.” He licked a path from Michael’s shoulder to his ear.
Michael groaned. “Good news. Now, let’s dance.” He rocked them together and let his hands explore the hard young body pressed against him. They entwined in and around each other for several more songs, the heat ramping up between them, hands brushing cocks, cradling balls, teasing, probing, grinding. Twenty minutes later, when the DJ swapped in a new playlist, the young man’s dick pressed like granite against Michael’s hip.
“How about we take a walk?” he hummed against the dancer’s neck. A flirty smile and a brief nod were the young man’s only reply. Michael grabbed a hand and pulled the guy into the hallway leading to the bathrooms, the emergency exit, and a handful of semiprivate mood-lit alcoves. There was a bit of a queue for one of those prime spots, leaving time for a little making out in the hall—not that they were alone in that agenda, blending into a sea of groping hands and grinding hips.
Michael had never understood why the whole back room thing was considered such a sordid deal among his straight friends. It beat the hell out of a cramped car. Sex was sex, and back rooms of any description were just anonymous geography. He guessed women were probably pickier in that regard, but that was just another plus for being gay. He wasn’t planning sleepovers, boyfriends, or brunch the next day with the guys he fucked. He didn’t need a bed unless the guy was worth a few hours. Hell, he didn’t need a name. This was getting off, pure and simple. Catch and release.
And the young man currently plastered to his front certainly seemed to have no issue with the concept. The kid knew enough to not even offer his name, and Michael appreciated that. Backed against the wall with Michael pushed hard up against him, the dancer was a handful of eager enthusiasm, so much so that Michael considered taking the action elsewhere for a more prolonged encounter, but first things first. Clearly not shy, within seconds the guy had Michael’s belt unbuckled, jeans unzipped, and a hand down the front of his underwear, gripping Michael’s erection and stroking with some serious finesse.
Michael’s eyes drifted closed as he shut off his brain and allowed himself to simply feel. The week’s stress drifted away as his body focused and responded to the familiar sensations. A second hand slipped down the back of his jeans and into his crease, teasing his opening, but not too bold. He spread his legs slightly in approval, allowing easier access, and flirted with the idea of returning the favour, but whatever, the kid was way eager enough. Michael didn’t kiss, suck, or bottom his fucks, topping without exception. He was happy to jerk his partner off after a quick encounter, and he was a generous top in any extended playtime, ensuring his bottom got off, but that’s as far as he went. If they didn’t like it, they could leave, but he’d yet to get any complaints.
Facing the wall and lost in the mounting rhythm of the young man’s efforts, Michael was only vaguely aware of urgent voices and hurried movement behind him in the hall. That was until the music stopped, and the hand on his dick stilled, all about the same time he felt a not too gentle tap on his shoulder. His eyes flicked open, noting the young man’s were blown to the size of saucers and fixed on something over Michael’s right shoulder.
Huh.
“You need to leave the club… sir.” The rich voice slid over his shoulder, a hefty dose of scorn attached to the “sir.”
What the fuck? It was a struggle to turn with the young dancer’s hands still buried deep in Michael’s jeans, but when he finally did…. Holy shit. Immune to the rush of patrons scattering for the front door, Michael couldn’t move a muscle, anchored in place by the sexy-as-sin man facing him.
Six four at least, in full police gear including stab vest with an inordinate amount of equipment attached, the guy wore an expression that radiated a whole lot of barely restrained pissy attitude, and a
n antsy German shepherd glued tight to his left side. The dog’s demeanour was quiet but intently focused, on Michael apparently. Aware of the dancer’s hands sliding free of his jeans, Michael turned to watch the boy’s epic ass disappear into the bar and groaned. Fuck.
Turning back to the handler, Michael noted the man’s critical gaze had also tracked the dancer’s retreat, lingering a little longer than was strictly necessary. Once it fixed back on Michael, the man’s expression could have been mistaken for polite impatience if it weren’t for the withering dismissal evident in those pretty brown eyes. Chocolate, melt-me-in-a-puddle-on-the-floor-and-fuck-me-while-I’m-there eyes. That Michael found the man scorching hot was the understatement of the century.
The dog handler flicked him a thin smile that finished light years from those gorgeous eyes. “Sorry to interrupt, sir.”
Yeah, I just bet you are. Ignoring the sarcasm, Michael refused to squirm, although he did glance down to check if his dick was still hanging semiexposed and, yeah, not awkward, much.
He slid his gaze over the officer, top to toe, as if he had all the time in the world, while casually tucking himself in and zipping his fly, leaving the top button undone in an unspoken “fuck you” to the man standing before him. It was a statement that might have carried more weight if Michael had actually managed to keep his eyes from roaming the man. God help him, the guy was delicious.
The officer smirked. “Perhaps you should run after your… date?” he deadpanned, his gaze dipping to Michael’s mouth, then lower.
Had he just been checked out? Michael didn’t know whether to preen or bristle, taking closer inventory of the snarky beauty before him. Tall and leanly muscled, he guessed the man to be in his midthirties. A few smile lines creased the corners of an eminently kissable mouth, proving against current evidence that the man did in fact laugh on occasion. There was the barest hint of a receding hairline in the otherwise short, blond hair that sprang roughly spiked from his scalp. It wasn’t styled so much as the end result of fingers being dragged through it on a regular basis.
